Such A Funny Pair
by niblettk
Summary: A collection of moments from the eyes of Rachel Berry's dads and Kurt Hummel's dad.
1. They're Perfect

Raising a daughter–a child–is the most difficult thing that Leroy Berry has ever done.

She's outspoken, intelligent, talented–and sometimes too much of everything. To everyone else, Rachel is grating, high-pitched, and nosy. To her parents, she's perfect.

She looks like her mother, but they know it'll be a long time before she knows that, before she even wants to know that, and, personality-wise, is a carbon copy of her father. It's not the only reason Leroy adores her, but he looks at her and sees James.

James, who grew up in this town and, despite having spent years being tormented at the hands of his peers, neighbours, and father, wants to raise their daughter here. Leroy doesn't mind–their closest neighbours are generally accepting. Others choose to ignore them. It's rare that they get harassed, and when they do it's easy enough to shelter Rachel from it.

James will scoop her up and cart her off, far enough away that she can't overhear Leroy defending their honour and their right to raise their daughter freely.

There's so much wrong in this world, so much heartbreak that their daughter was going to face whether or not she was raised with same-sex parents, that it's all they can do to shelter her from the small things. They try to spend as much of their time together as they can–it's much easier to parent when you don't have to fumble it alone.

But occasionally, one of them is stuck in a position where they have to decide what to do.

Leroy isn't one to take things lying down, but his five-year-old Rachel is clutching his hand, already humming the songs from Tarzan, the movie they've just walked out of, and James is in the bathroom.

It's why he's ignoring the men making rude comments towards them, whispering together and keeping their distance like he's got some contagious disease. Rachel tugs on his hand, smiling prettily, and then catches one of them saying "fag." The smile falls from her face–Leroy isn't surprised, she's heard the word before–and she steps closer, wrapping thin arms around his leg.

"Daddy, why are those men making fun of you?"

The men explode with laughter, and Leroy's decision solidifies–Rachel shouldn't have to see this, but she shouldn't think it's okay for this to happen, so he pushes her behind him and looks towards the men.

He's too late to say anything. A strange man has barrelled over and punched the tallest, burliest abuser in the face; he goes down like a sack of potatoes, and Leroy's jaw drops.

"It's none of your business who this fellow loves. Leave him and his daughter alone, jackass." The people milling around clear off immediately, giving the bleeding man on the ground a wide berth.

His rescuer barely spares a glance for him and Rachel, who is peeking around his legs in admiration, before joining hands with a woman a few paces away.

Leroy thinks he should call out a thank-you, get the man's name, simply ask _why_, and then he sees the little boy, fast asleep and draped over his mother's shoulders; he's unmistakably male, the thin mouth and fiercely strong jaw standing out, but he's wearing a bright pink headband.

Suddenly, Leroy understands the man's motivation, understands that it's not the last time he'll see this man and his son. The joy that fills him when he realizes that when this boy is older–whether he's gay or just feminine–he's going to have a dad that supports him like this is almost incomprehensible.

"Daddy," Rachel has his hand now, tugging his arm down with the strange strength kids seem to have sometimes, "You okay?"

He kneels down, drawing her forward and pressing a kiss to her hairline, "Yeah, sweetie. I'm perfect."

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	2. The Strong One

Kurt is special; Burt knows this, knows that no matter what life–or the boys at school–throws at him, Kurt will survive and he'll be better than everyone else.

He knows it all comes from Katherine: the talent, the brains, the attitude.

It's hard to raise a child, he thinks, feeling Kurt's small hand slip in his own sweaty one. He stares, watching them lower the casket into the ground. Katherine's mother sobs quietly beside him, the bouquet of white magnolias she's holding quiver noticeably in her hands.

"Dad," Kurt whispers quietly. He knows it's a quiet occasion, that he shouldn't disrupt the man at the head of the large hole–Burt had wanted a simple ceremony without a preacher, but Jane, Katherine's mother, had insisted. "Where's mommy?"

Burt kneels down, feeling the dirt crumble under his knees, and brings Kurt towards him, "Mommy is–She's gone away, Kurt," he hears his own voice break, sees the tears start filling Kurt's eyes, "I'm sorry, baby."

Small hands wrap around his neck and Kurt steps forward, hugging him tightly. Burt stands and Kurt's legs cling to his sides; the tears are flowing, Burt can feel a dampness spreading out from where Kurt's face is pressed to his shoulder.

"Is she coming back?" It's mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, and the warmth of Kurt's breath crumbles the thin layer of denial, of pathetic, unwarranted hope, that Burt has been carrying around for ten days now.

His wife isn't coming back, and he shakes his head, hefting Kurt up a little as he slips and holding him tighter. She's gone, she's never coming back.

He's been through loss: his parents died during his second year at the University of Ohio. But this–this gut wrenching pain that just won't leave him–is not going away. He isn't sure it ever will.

Katherine is gone.

He's alone. He has to raise Kurt on his own, suffer through what both of them knew was coming, what Kate had assured him she could handle. He could take a back seat on the elephant that followed them around, but with Kate gone...

He'd have to deal with it. He'd have to be the strong one.

He thinks about looking up that boy–the one he made fun of for being homosexual–James Watson from his high school, knowing that even though he was a jerk and a bully, James was always better than that.

Except Burt shouldn't have to be thinking about his son getting bullied, about going to the boy he'd tortured years ago, about how hard it's going to be to support his family on his own. He shouldn't have to be thinking at all–not on this day, not in this place.

He closes his eyes as Kurt starts to slacken against him–falling asleep–and stops thinking, even if it's just for a little while.

He'll focus on being strong later; on raising and protecting his son; on living without his soul mate.

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	3. Cooties

It's two years later when he hears about the same boy. He just doesn't know it's the same boy.

Rachel comes home and throws herself on the kitchen floor, completely hysterical. James glances down from where he's stirring a pot of sauce on the stove, and then up at Leroy, a faint smile on his face.

"Princess, what's wrong?" Rachel rolls over, sitting up without using her hands–Leroy wishes he could still do that.

"He doesn't love me," she wails, crossing her arms in a pout. James nearly snorts, but covers it with a cough; Leroy spares him a glare as he reaches down and tugs Rachel up. She stands, sliding up onto his lap easily and clutching at his neck.

"We both get made fun of," she sniffs, "so I thought he'd want to be my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend, honey? Aren't you a little young for a boyfriend?" Rachel looks disdainful.

"Daddy, Quinn Fabray is already dating that cute boy with the glasses from down the block, and if she can nail a hottie," Leroy looks up, alarmed by the term "nail a hottie", at his husband, who merely shrugs, "like Artie Abrams I should be able to get a boyfriend too."

"Well, honey, maybe this boy just doesn't want a girlfriend." James wipes his hands on a cloth and joins them at the table, reaching over to rub circles on his daughter's back.

Rachel sniffs again, rubbing her cheeks pitifully, "But Kurt is nice, and pretty, and he has soft hands," she frowns, looking pleadingly at her daddy, "I don't have cooties, do I?"

"No, sweetie," James coos, "I'm sure this Kurt boy will come around."

Rachel leans back to smile brightly at her dad, her back straightening in determination as she slides off Leroy's lap, "You're right," she barks, "I'll have Kurt Hummel if it's the last thing I do." A dark looks crosses his husband's face and Leroy has to fight to keep the reassuring smile on his face for his daughter.

She gives both of them a kiss on the cheek before turning and marching up the stairs to her room.

James goes back to the stove, leaning over the pan and lifting a taste of sauce to his mouth. Leroy stands as well, approaching his husband from behind and wrapping his arms around him, "What's wrong, baby?"

The body in his arms relaxes against his chest and James leans back to rest his head on Leroy's slightly taller shoulder, "Nothing," he sighs, "It's just–I used to know a Hummel."

Leroy hums knowingly, "A bully?"

"What else?"

"Well, from what Rachel says, his boy is getting bullied. Not that the boy deserves it, but if his dad believes in karma I hope he blames himself."

James laughs gently, "He wasn't the worst of them, honey. He was the quarterback–he went with the flow, but he was never the ringleader."

"If you say so," Leroy kisses him softly on his cheek, releasing him and stepping towards the stairs, "I'm going to go make sure Rachel isn't attempting to make a love potion from that Harry Potter set she has."

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	4. Ballet

James arrives early to Rachel's ballet class, so he has to stay out of the studio to wait for her.

There's a young boy sitting in one of a string of chairs much too large for him and sniffling. It's obvious that he's trying not to cry. James stands across from him, but he has no right to get involved because he's not the kid's dad, it's not like he's been abandoned or something.

Naturally, it's not long before James finds himself crouching down in front of the kid. The string of Christmas lights above their head lights up the top half of the boy's face in green light, and the tears shine on his cheeks.

"Hi, kid," he says quietly, "My name is James. What's yours?"

The boy shifts and he goes back to staring at the ballet slippers that sit neatly on his lap. "It's Kurt."

James lets himself fall so his legs rest on the floor, "Why aren't you in class?"

"I don't wanna do it," he says, so soft that James leans forward to hear better, "It's not fair."

"What isn't fair?" He almost asks if the boy hasn't been given a solo that he wanted, because that's the first thought when Rachel is upset. The boy doesn't say anything for a while, so James puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head up, "C'mon, I'm on your side."

The boy smiles sadly, "We're supposed to kiss the girls on the cheek at the end."

James laughs, "Well, I don't see anything wrong with that."

"I don't want to kiss a girl!" Kurt blurts, and then his eight-year-old hands fly up to cover his mouth. James' heart breaks.

"You don't have to kiss her on the lips," he tries, but Kurt shakes his head, tears starting to leak out from under his eyelids. James clears his throat, "Kurt, there's nothing wrong with wanting to kiss boys."

The boy blinks at him owlishly and James feels maybe he's overstepped his bounds, that maybe this kid is just scared of cooties or something, but then the tiny hands drop slightly. Kurt's thin lips barely move; his voice is breathless, "There's not?"

"No," James says firmly, "Of course there's not."

The door to the studio opens. There's a cry of "Daddy!" and James barely has time to turn before he has an armful of his daughter. Kids pile out of the room, getting their coats on, and Kurt slips out from the chair and starts to put his coat on.

James stays by Rachel because she's rambling on and on about the class and how she gets to dance with that older boy she's pointing out, who has ridiculously curly hair and a smug smirk. He loses sight of Kurt when the parents start coming in, what with children yelling and jumping around, so he doesn't even know where to start looking.

"And then at the end, Daddy–Daddy, are you listening to me?" James crouches down again, fixing Rachel's buttons.

"Of course I am, darling." He pulls her into a quick hug to reassure her, and spots Kurt over the top of her head. He's on his way out, holding hands with his father, but James doesn't look up. He's only got eyes for Kurt, whose head it turned so far around to look back into the room.

Kurt catches sight of him just before his dad tugs him around the corner, but it's long enough that James sees the brilliant smile break across the boy's rosy cheeks.

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	5. Which One Is Yours?

Burt hasn't seen James Watson since he graduated from high school.

The man scowls when he recognizes him, but the park is crowded and he'll seem rude if he stands when there's an open space on the bench next to Burt Hummel, so he sits.

"Hummel."

"James," Burt starts, "I don't think your name is still Watson."

The other man's eyes flicker to him, "It's not."

Burt doesn't say anything for a while, just stares into the jumble of children at the swings. His son is pushing a beautiful brunette girl, who looks happy and undeniably Jewish.

"Which one is yours?"

He's trying, he really is, and he knows he should probably apologize, but he can't think of the words right now.

"The little brunette on the swings," James bites out.

He knows the other man didn't ask, but Burt continues, "She's cute. Mine's the–"

"Do you mind?" James' head twitches towards him, like he's fighting the urge to see Burt's reaction, "I'd rather not talk to you, Hummel."

Neither man says anything for a while, and then Burt clears his throat, "Listen, about all the stuff I did to you in high school..." James rolls his eyes and doesn't look over, but he doesn't tell Burt to stop. "I'm sorry. I was wrong–_so_ wrong–and I know that now. So, uh... Yeah. I'm sorry."

Finally, James' head turns towards him, "That's all you have to say to me?"

Burt meets his eyes calmly, and he shrugs, "I could go on for hours, but it doesn't matter. If you forgive me, you forgive me. If you don't, then that's it, isn't it?"

He sees James grind his teeth once, and then he pushes himself back against the bench, arms crossed, and sighs heavily, "You were never the worst." Burt smiles faintly, and James realizes belatedly that it's not at the unsaid forgiveness, but because he's watching his child. "So, Hummel, which one is yours?"

"The little one pushing yours on the swing," he points to accompany the words, but James doesn't need help. He's been watching this boy, this little boy in the bright pink shirt with black and white suspenders who he recognizes from Rachel's ballet class, wondering whose child he was and hoping he's got the support he's obviously going to need. He opens his mouth to say something, but Burt starts in again, seemingly to himself, "He dressed himself today. I don't know what I'll do when I can't follow him everywhere, because he's not ever going to stop dressing like him–being him. I love my son, Watson–or James, I guess, since I don't know your partner's name–and I'm going to do everything I can to protect him. I'm just so afraid that it won't be enough to protect him from assholes like me."

James is nearly in tears, because the honesty in this man's love for his child stings, stings because James _knows _how hard it is to grow up out and proud in this town; the little boy they're both watching calls out, "Daddy!"

He walks towards them, smooth and poised, and James thinks he might've been watching some fashion shows recently, and he stops in front of his dad, hands on his hips.

"I got dirt on my pants. We have to go home and fix them," Burt smiles, nodding, and the boy huffs, "_Now_?"

So he stands, taking his son's hand and nodding at James, who calls out as he's walking away.

Burt turns, arching an eyebrow at him, and his son tugs impatiently on his hand, "Daddy, can we go?"

"Here," James says, holding out a business card with his office, home, and cell number on it, "Take my card. If you ever have questions about... anything, give us a call."

Burt stares at the card; his eyes scan the words, and when he looks up at James, he smiles, "Will do, Berry."

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	6. Not Normal

It's six months before Burt calls him.

Rachel is standing in front of James and Leroy, performing her new ballet number, and she stops when the phone rings, sitting down to do her homework without either of them having to ask her to wait until he's done on the phone.

Leroy gets up, plucking the phone from its cradle and lifting it to his ear, "Leroy Berry speaking."

It takes a moment, and Leroy's eyebrows shoot into his hairline, but he covers the mouthpiece with his hand, "Honey, it's Burt Hummel..." It almost sounds like a question, and James stands quickly.

"I'll explain later, honey," he takes the phone from his husband and presses it to his own ear, "Burt?"

"Yeah. This is James now?"

James leaves the living room, moving to stand by the sink and stare out the window as he talks, "Is something wrong with your son?"

"No, I just–"the man sighs loudly and James moves the phone away from his ear for a moment, "I don't _think _anything is wrong, but he's only nine and I don't–I haven't seen him cry since he was five!"

"Oh," James says, and that's it.

"That's all you have to say? _Oh_? I thought you said you could help me!"

James swallows, "I can help you with the... with the gay stuff, Burt. This isn't because he might be gay. I don't know why he wouldn't be crying like a normal kid, but if something happened around that time, maybe it's affected him more than you thought."

Burt stays quiet for a moment; all James can hear is his breathing.

"Burt? Did something happen to Kurt when he was five?"

"His mom got sick. She passed away a few years ago," Burt chokes around the words and James wishes he knew how to help more than this, knew what to say, but he doesn't. "I'm sorry for bothering you with this. I'll just–I'll let you go."

The phone goes silent.


	7. How Dare You

Burt can barely think. It just doesn't make sense, and he almost wishes his kid was just seeking attention, but he knows, instinctively, that Kurt is not looking for attention; he'd gone pale the moment he'd said it and then, when Burt had failed to respond right away, had fled to his room.

The slam of the door is nowhere near as loud as the slide of the lock.

_She smells. _Burt picks up the phone. _I hate her._ He can't even force himself to sit down, he's so angry. _If you make me go, I'll run away! _The phone beeps loudly in his ear, the ringing making him grind his teeth together. _She hit me!_

"Hello?" Mildred's voice is slurred, and Burt clenches the phone tighter.

"Mildred," Burt starts, and she lets out a pleased sound at his voice, but it quickly fades to silence when he continues, "Did you hit my son?"

He doesn't care for small talk, not if it's true. If it's true, he'd bet good money he'll never speak to his sister again.

She stays silent for a long time. Too long. "Well?" he demands.

"You weren't going to do it," she sighs, "Somebody has to beat the gay out of that boy before–"

"We won't be coming for a visit. Goodbye, Mildred."

"Now, Burt, don't overreact," she says, the eye-roll apparent even through the phone line.

"Overreact! How dare you!" he shouts, hollering into the phone, but he knows that shouting will just scare Kurt now, so he pulls himself together, "Don't call here, Mildred."

She protests again, but he slides his finger over the phone and hangs up on her. He's barely made it three steps towards Kurt's door when his son shouts up for him to go away. "Okay, son," he says, pressing his fingers to his eyes in an attempt to stem the flow of tears, just in case his son comes up, "We aren't going to Mildred's, okay?"

Kurt doesn't say anything, and Burt knows he's not going to come upstairs, so he slides to the floor in their back landing and stares at the phone. Idly, he flicks through the recently called numbers. Their phone keeps the previous ten numbers listed, ready for reuse, and Burt nearly laughs when he realizes James Berry's number is still on the phone, even after six months.

How pathetic is it that he's dialled less than ten numbers in six months? He hits the green button and the phone starts dialling.

"Hello?"

"My sister hit him," he pauses, listening to James moving somewhere.

The sound of a door closing reaches him, and then James' smooth voice drifts through the line, "Alright, I'm alone now."

"I'm sorry for bothering you. I just needed somebody to talk to, figure out how to deal with this."

James sighs, but he doesn't hang up.


	8. Author's Note

I would like to apologize for abandoning this fic.

I fell out of the writing side of the glee fandom over a year ago and ignored the stories I'd left behind.

I've posted the two drabbles I had left from before, unedited, but I felt anybody who still has this on alert deserves it.

I don't know if I'll ever come back to this, and I'm sorry for that.


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